


for an optimist

by FreshBrains



Category: Glee
Genre: Community: comment_fic, Depression, F/F, First Time, Hook-Up, Light Angst, Loft fic, New York City
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-08
Updated: 2014-08-08
Packaged: 2018-02-12 07:31:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 669
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2100942
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FreshBrains/pseuds/FreshBrains
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Rachel leaned against Santana.  “It’ll get better.  This is our year.”</p><p>Santana didn’t believe her, so instead of snapping, instead of bringing down Rachel’s high, she tilted her head and kissed Rachel’s pink-glossed lips.</p>
            </blockquote>





	for an optimist

**Author's Note:**

> For the LJ comment_fic prompt: _Any, any female characters, this world is only gonna break your heart._

Rachel was the sort of girl Santana never bothered to check out—she usually could only see Rachel as the girl in braids and plaid skirts still, no matter how much Rachel sexed it up after graduation, and besides, Santana liked them blonde and smiling and flexible.  Rachel was the anti-Santana, all vim and vigor and motivation, all optimism and the confident roll of her shoulders.

“This is going to be my year,” Rachel said in the loft mirror the morning before they hooked up, fluffing her hair and slicking her lips pink. 

“You say that every morning,” Santana groaned from her bed, always ready to harsh Berry’s mellow.  “If it isn’t your year now, it’s never gonna be.”

“You just wait,” Berry murmured around her lip gloss wand.  “I’ll show you.”

*

The optimistic morning bled into a tired, pessimistic night—Rachel still hadn’t gotten a callback from one of her auditions, Santana had to work a double shift, and Kurt wasn’t even there to make wry remarks to keep them on their toes.

“I should just go to bed,” Rachel said, toeing off her pumps and kicking them into the corner.  She flopped next to Santana on the couch, stealing her wine cooler.  It was only six-thirty.

Santana let her, too tired to put up a fight.  “You think _your_ day sucked?  I have blisters the size of quarters on my feet and I wore that awful polyester thong today, now I have a rash on my hips.”

“At least it’s just on your hips,” Rachel remarked, taking a sip of wine cooler.

Santana sighed, leaning her head back on the couch.  She was tired and cranky, her feet and back sore, her hair smelling like French-fry grease.  She had an audition for a Pet Meds commercial in two weeks and could barely muster up excitement for it.  “Berry, I’m fucking tired of New York.”

Rachel leaned against Santana.  “It’ll get better.  This is our year.”

Santana didn’t believe her, so instead of snapping, instead of bringing down Rachel’s high, she tilted her head and kissed Rachel’s pink-glossed lips.

*

Rachel was an apt lover, if not a little shy.  She went where Santana directed, followed Santana’s lead.  Her hair looked adorable all fluffy and mussed, and her face scrunched into beautiful bunny-like ecstasy when Santana wrung a tired orgasm out of her with her fingers.

She prepared to get up and wash off, but Rachel pulled her back down.  “Your turn,” she said sweetly, and how could Santana argue with that?

*

When Santana woke up, Rachel was curled into a ball next to her, back towards Santana.  She had a smattering of moles on her left shoulder and before Santana could do something as cheesy as connect them with her index finger, she slapped Rachel in the arm.  “Wake up, you have class.”

Rachel inhaled sharply as she woke, spine curling in a gorgeous stretch.  She rolled over, rubbing her eyes, and said, “Good morning.  Did you sleep okay?”

Santana nodded.  “I usually nod off pretty well after a fuck.”

“Charming,” Rachel said, rolling her eyes.  She sat up, tugging on her pearl-pink bra that was tangled in the sheets.  “What are you up to today?”

“Same old, same old,” Santana said, yawning.  She felt a hollow ache in her chest, despite Rachel’s sleepy smile and kind eyes, despite their night spent in each other’s arms.  She fucked Rachel, it was good, it was _nice_ , but she still had to work her shitty job and come home tired, she still missed her blonde first love.  Nothing had changed.

Rachel came back into the room, dressed in a denim skirt and tights and boots, looking chipper and ready for the day.  She leaned down and pecked Santana on the cheek.  “Today is our day, Santana.  Maybe not our year, but our day.” 

Santana smiled, but as Rachel left in a cloud of perfume and optimism, all she could think was _the world is only gonna break your heart, Berry._

**Author's Note:**

> Title inspired by Paramore's "For a Pessimist I'm Pretty Optimistic"


End file.
